Shinigami: Final Countdown
by Taigne
Summary: Currently on Hold. The pilots are forced to discover some unwanted inner truths as time begins to run out for Duo.
1. Prologue

Warnings(for later parts): swearing, minor violence, potenially ooc but that's kinda the point, minor philosophising/soul searching, no doubt poor use of medical/ technical jargon  
  
Shinigami: Final Countdown.  
  
Prologue.  
  
Trowa picked up a wrench and attacked the inner workings of Wing Zero's beam cannon, tightening the reconstructed casing around the energy cells with a force that belied his blank features. The rest of the suit towered above him, its lithe pilot perched on one arm, wearing only an iron mask in addition to his habitual green vest and black shorts while welding the damaged shoulder joint, unheeding of the white hot sparks flying towards him.  
  
Behind the mask, his expression was as set as Trowa's, stoically blank, keeping up his "perfect soldier" mask, holding in his churning emotions as he desperately tried to loose himself in the normally soothing task of maintenance of his Gundam. He had been monitoring Oz activities from his laptop since three this morning, unable to escape into sleep for long, but his thought had been constantly dragged back to the emptiness of his room and the vacant bed beside his, so he had sought refuge in the large hanger which currently housed four mobile suits. Their current safe-house was the expansive summer residence of one of Quatre's sisters, Heero had given up trying to work out which, and, though situated in central France, was currently under the humid oppression of the Mediterranean climate of the South.  
  
There was a metallic clang from below, and a slight grunt of displeasure from the mechanic as he stooped to retrieve a stray bolt from under the cannon, then the bay was quiet again except for the hiss and spark of the welder and the taps and screws of Trowa's adjustments and fine tuning. Heavyarms' pilot was the only one Heero let touch Wing Zero's inner workings, he wasn't too proud to admit that Trowa as a better mechanic than he was, and the suit was currently in particularly bad shape.  
  
Though neither of the pair was given to involved or idle conversation, the lack of chatter distracted Heero for once. He hadn't realised how attached, no that wasn't it. how accustomed he'd grown to the endless babble and schoolyard antics of Maxwell. The hanger seemed empty without his energetic presence. With a small frown Heero firmly shut off thoughts which headed towards feelings *the perfect soldier is not distracted by such things, they will only compromise the mission*.  
  
Trowa looked up suddenly and Heero noticed the sound of tyres crunching chippings over towards the lodgings proper. Quatre and Wufei were back from visiting the hospital. The ex-circus boy tensed, unsure whether to seek out the Arabian, but sighed as he heard the door to the music room slam. The blond had been visiting Duo every day since their last abortive mission had put Deathscythe's pilot in the ICU and had returned each time, unwilling to talk or yell, instead taking out his frustrations on the old Steinway, crashing out the most dramatic and discordant symphonies of Beethoven and Rachmaninov. As the Russian composer's torturous third symphony reverberated from above, Trowa shook his head and turned back to his work.  
  
Quatre hammered the keys mercilessly, over-using the pedal, but not caring as the heavy chords merged and merely added to the noise he was creating. His whole body shook as he began to sob, heedless of the tears that fell on the ivories. It wasn't fair, they'd been doing so well, taking everything that was thrown at them and coming through it, sometimes worse for wear, but alive, surviving! And now all that, all the pain they'd gone through, all the hopes that had been building, could be for nothing.  
  
Even if they did win the war, even if Romafella and Oz and Allah knew who else wanted their blood could be stopped, it wasn't worth a damn thing if they weren't all there to see it.  
  
If the doctors were right. If Duo was going to die.  
  
  
  
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How about it? Want more? Want me to leave it to the proffessionals and stopping wasting your time!? Tell me, onegai! *Chibi Quatre eyes* 


	2. Need

Warnings(for later parts): swearing, minor violence, potentially ooc but that's kinda the point, minor philosophising/soul searching, no doubt poor use of medical/ technical jargon  
  
  
  
Shinigami: final countdown  
  
Part 1 - Need.  
  
Wufei headed for the hangar, unable to ignore the weight which had settled on his chest when they had met Doctor St.Croix as they left Duo's room. The braided pilot had become very listless during the fifteen minutes they were allowed to stay, but they had assumed it was because his morphine had been reduced to reduce the unpleasant side effects it had been producing. St. Croix had told them otherwise however, she said that they had been unable to stop all the internal bleeding during the last surgery and were uncertain that a further operation could fix the problem or that Duo would survive it. But if nothing was done, Duo's days were numbered.  
  
"Do it!" he and Quatre had insisted in unison.  
  
"Please, think about it" she asked. Should Duo survive the surgery, there was still no guarantee that he would recover, in fact, there was a good chance he would simply be in even greater pain until the end. She advised them to sleep on it, and talk with Duo tomorrow. They'd left the hospital and driven back in silence, each thinking the same, agonizing thoughts, Quatre stalking off as soon as the car drew into the drive, leaving Wufei to inform the others. Entering the bay, he saw Heero and Trowa hard at work on Wing Zero, seemingly immersed uncaringly in everyday activity. Wufei knew it was just their way of handling the situation, mundane tasks were a way to forget, for a while; he himself had spent the previous day rearranging his few possessions and the furniture in his room in the desperation to switch off.  
  
The pair stopped when he entered, Heero removing the mask and vaulting to the ground, Trowa standing, wrench in hand. From the haunted look in Wufei's eyes, they could tell that it wasn't good news. As the Chinese boy paused, a lump forming in his throat as he struggled to get the words out, Heero's normally perfect calm broke and he blurted  
  
"For Kami's sake Wufei, say something!" Chang closed his eyes to the fear in Heero's face and bowed his head.  
  
"Duo. the doctor said he, the internal bleeding hasn't stopped, but. if they operate, there's no guarantee he'll pull through, it could just make the pain worse." he trailed off, saying it made it more real, and still harder to bear.  
  
"But if they do nothing...?" Trowa's voice shook, and Wufei couldn't meet his eyes.  
  
"He'll die," to Wufei's ears it sounded callous and flat, but he knew that if he let go of his control he'd start crying right there and not be able to stop.  
  
Heero's legs wouldn't hold him as Wufei finally admitted what he'd been dreading and he sat down, hard on the concrete floor, face a petrified blank. Threatening tears stunk his eyes and he blinked rapidly to fend them off; 'boys don't cry' a well worn but fitting mantra. It felt like there was an aching chasm where his heart should be and had been ripped out. Part of him wanted to run to Duo, to stay with him and never let go, but his soldier side spat that he was being stupid and sentimental, Duo probably didn't want him there, definitely shouldn't have to cater to his selfish needs for absolution from guilt and desire for love and warmth. He was being weak, he'd lose focus if he went to see the American; as he had last week, during his last mission. He'd been reckless, overly daring and aggressive, and they still hadn't finished repairing the damage Wing Zero had taken as a result.  
  
Trowa stood, deflated, beside him, knowing better than to offer comfort where there could be none, but looked up as the music from the house came to an abrupt halt. Setting down the wrench, he set off across the hangar, Quartre would want someone to talk to about anything but the terrible decision they had to make. He was stopped abruptly when the blond barged past him into the hangar without acknowledgement, striding over to Heero and dragging him to his feet with a force that drew a gasp from Wing Zero's pilot. Quatre's cerulean eyes filled with fury as the boy in front of him regarded him impassively and calmly raised his hand to where the blond still gripped his vest.  
  
Without warning, Quatre surged forward, head butting the boy and swinging for a left hook so fast that Heero didn't have time to block. The stinging blow brought him to his senses as a trickle of blood escaped his mouth and he didn't hesitate to return the favour. But Quatre showed more skill than Heero gave him credit for, and even as his uppercut connected with his stomach, Quatre dropped into a spinning kick that knocked Heero's legs out from under him.  
  
Heero fell onto his back, doing his best to block the flurry of blows Quatre rained down on him with a strength fuelled by anger, but all he could think of was, 'why?' Quatre provided him with the answer as his eyes filled with tears.  
  
"You cold, heartless bastard!" he choked, uncaring that Wufei and Trowa had begun to move in, their initial surprise having worn off.  
  
"How can you just sit there and be so calm?" each word was punctuated with a thump to Heero's chest as he knelt over him, pinning Heero to the ground.  
  
"Don't you care, are you a fucking robot, huh? Duo's dying and you don't even go and visit and every time I walk in that room I see disappointment that I'm not you and here you are and you don't even give a shit!" Quatre screamed at him, struggling as Trowa tried to pull him off the unresponsive Heero.  
  
"You think you're the perfect soldier?!" the blond continued as Wufei moved in to help Trowa.  
  
"Well maybe you are, but you're the worst human being I've ever met!" Quatre continued to kick as Trowa pinned his arms to his sides and Wufei pulled Heero clear.  
  
"I'm just sorry Duo doesn't see that, I can't believe he actually thinks you care about him, you obviously don't give a shit about anyone but yourself and your precious missions, you. you."  
  
The strength seemed to leave the Arabian as he stared into Heero's eyes. The pilot was sitting where Wufei held him, blood running down the side of his face from a cut above his eye where Quatre had punched him, looking for all the world like a lost little child.  
  
Guilt flooded over the blond as a single tear ran down Heero's face, and he shook Trowa off and knelt beside Heero as the perfect soldier began to shake.  
  
"Heero, I. I'm sorry, I got so mad, I. I just want you to go see him, he needs you right now," he said softly. Heero shook his head.  
  
"He doesn't need me, he needs to get over me, I." his voice caught "I can't help him, I can't go, I feel so useless, there's nothing I can do for him."  
  
"I know it's hard, Heero, but we have to be strong for him, and you are strong, I know that. Maybe we can't stop.w-what's happening, but that doesn't mean we can't be there for him now. Please Heero, go and see him. No matter what happens, he needs you now, not later." Because later may be too late, he finished privately, as they all did. Heero looked up at Quatre and nodded minutely. He sniffed, his stoic expression returning and wiped a tear from the blond's cheek,  
  
"Tears don't achieve anything" he told him, standing abruptly and leaving the hangar.  
  
Quatre scrambled to his feet, about to follow, but Trowa placed a restraining hand on his arm.  
  
"Let him be." Trowa's emerald eyes softened with concern as he saw Quatre's jaw where Heero had caught him. He reached out a hand to gently touch the darkening side of the blond's face.  
  
"We should put something on that or you'll be purple in the morning." The  
  
Arabian nodded, taking a step towards the hangar's civilian entrance then paused.  
  
"I was really horrible to Heero though."  
  
"I'll see Yuy's alright" Wufei assured him, finally taking his eyes from the door Heero had retreated through. He turned to Quatre, cocking his head to one side to observe him critically. "I'd watch out though, I don't think you'll be so lucky next time." Quatre gave a wry smile.  
  
"I don't know what I was thinking. If he'd have fought back I'd have been pummelled!" he scratched the back of his head, chewing his lower lip.  
  
"No you wouldn't, I wouldn't have let him" Trowa promised. Quatre smiled slightly, and glanced at his watch.  
  
"Gosh, look at the time, it's past ten and we haven't even eaten" he sighed, "though I'm not all that hungry," he looked down at his scuffed shoes, eyes round and haunted.  
  
"We should all get some rest" Trowa's tone was just steady. "Tomorrow is going to be horrible."  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
Next: how does Duo feel about all this? After all in the end, the decision is his to make 


	3. War without you

Warnings: swearing, minor violence, potentially ooc but that's kinda the point, minor philosophising/soul searching, no doubt poor use of medical/ technical jargon  
  
Notes: This part somewhat stationary plot-wise, but all in good time, I wanted to explore the situation, there's more movement next time, but tell me if this wasn't necessary. Oh and there's a smattering of French, but it's obvious I hope : )  
  
Shinigami: final countdown  
  
  
  
Part 2 - War without you.  
  
  
  
Heero stood in the steam filled shower, letting the blisteringly hot water sting his skin and clear his mind. He slowly ran a flannel over his face, cleaning the trickles of blood from his mouth and temple, ignoring the pain of the rough material against the sensitive flesh. Once done, he sighed and closed his eyes, tilting his chin up to feel the powerful spray on his face, slicking back his dark hair and easing his aching head. Stopping the water abruptly, he stepped out onto the soft thick mat and grabbed a towel from the heater to quickly dry himself. He kept his mind studiously blank, wincing slightly at the purpling bruises on his chest and shoulders, Quatre hadn't pulled his punches and his fists, though small, had sharp knuckles and the strength of one incensed.  
  
He looked at his empty expression in the bathroom mirror, wishing he were as uncaring as Quatre had accused him of being. But he was so desperately alone within himself; sometimes the stab of need was almost tangible. Need for companionship, need for someone to treat him like a normal being, a normal teenage boy, not a tool of war. Heero knew he must appear as the robot Quatre had seen, but how could he be anything else when that was how J and the others treated him. All J's endearing terms, all the "my boys" in the world couldn't make up for the way he had been brought up, the way J still instructed him. There was a twisting conflict within him that made his head ache, and he firmly berated himself for allowing out these feelings, this unneeded, selfish compassion that made him weak, made him less than perfect. All this internal conflict, and yet his face twitched not one muscle. At least he was that strong.  
  
Grabbing a fresh towel from the rail, he rubbed vigorously at his perpetually unruly hair, unable to meet his eyes in the glass before him. Well, that didn't matter, he didn't need to, it was pure vanity anyway, his injuries were not significant enough to require inspection. Why else would he have to face himself? Heero could taste bile in his throat as he flung down the towel to the side of the marble bath across the room from the shower, pulled on his jeans and stalked back to his room.  
  
Once there, he firmly lock the door and sat on the side of his bed, straight in his posture, even though the temptation was to collapse onto the bed and escape into sleep. But he couldn't do that; he had to know about Duo. For the sake of future mission plans, he had to know the likely outcome in order to prepare. Yeah, that must be the reason. Sighing sharply, Heero slipped over to the wooden stool and thumbed open his laptop. He called up L'hopital St. Genevieve intranet and accessed the ICU database in a swift clacking of keys. The cold hard light of the computer screen only made the facts worse as he scrolled down the listed procedures and comments form staff on Duo's progress. Or lack of it. The doctor's final recommendation was 'leave well enough alone'.  
  
His fingers shook as he hit the off button, the screen fading to black, but the image was burned on his retina, refusing to diminish as he screwed up his eyes and threw himself onto the his bed, punching the pillow with a force that split the cloth casing in two, scattering feathers everywhere. He didn't bother to gather them up, but neither did he sleep, staring long into the night, wishing his mind was not full of the sound of Duo's laughter, of the inviting image of his sleep-fuzzed expression and yawned greeting first thing in the morning, and the sheer forbidden thrill he felt every time Duo ruffled his hair or jumped him, yelling for a piggy-back ride and Heero could respond just as he pleased, just as the teenage boy he was.  
  
  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
  
  
"Looks like it's just you and me again, buddy," Duo rasped, grinning weakly at the blue-black stuffed teddy sitting on his bedside table, wearing his black cap and silver cross. Well, he had to keep up his reputation for talking even when there was no one in the room. Surprisingly, the stuffed toy didn't respond, but that was okay, Duo would never speak to Heero if he actually wanted a response to his ramblings. He reached out gingerly, not wanting to pull the new stitches in his abdomen, and groped for the water glass on the table, unwilling to turn too much. As his fingers felt the smooth surface of the beaker beneath them, white hot pain seared his insides and he cried out, quickly pulling his arm back, clutching it to his body protectively as the water slashed in a fountain to the floor. Grimacing and cursing to himself, while trying not to breathe too deeply, he lay as still as possible, eyes squeezed shut, until a nurse came to check on his rapidly beeping monitors.  
  
"Are you alright, Monsieur Maxwell?" she hurried to lean over him, taking his clenched fist in her hand, concern on her round face. Duo managed a smile over gritted teeth, opening one eye.  
  
"Oh, sure mam'selle, don't mind me," he gasped, trying to focus through the dark haze that was clouding the edges of his vision. "I was just - - - wondering if there was any chance of - - - painkillers that work?" his tone of voice was more desperate than sarcastic.  
  
"I'm sorry, but you know the strongest painkillers we have were causing problems."  
  
"Yeah, I know, but - - - come on, what's a few side effects gonna do to me - - - that my shredded insides won't - - -?" For once he couldn't mask the agony in his eyes, what was the point in pretending he was fine, putting on a brave face when - - -? The nurse sensed his despair and tried to reassure him.  
  
"Hey, don't you talk like that garcon, giving up isn't an option, d'accord?" she told him sternly, all too aware that her superiors were ready to do just that. But this young man had so much potential, even in this debilitated state she could sense that, and he didn't strike her as a quitter, even if he needed a little encouragement right now. So she continued, "We haven't, and I'm sure your friends aren't about to either. Don't they come and see you every day? How would they feel, hein?"  
  
Duo managed a half smile and a nod in response and the nurse cleared up the puddle of water and exited with a kind smile, leaving him to the privacy of his thoughts and the paralysis of his pain. He couldn't handle this waiting, this helplessness, he wasn't the kind of person to stay still for a minute and the weeks spent doing nothing here were slowly breaking down the barriers of humour and wit that he kept up even for himself. He hated being forced to deal with his emotions, for all he seemed to wear them on his sleeve, but right now it was that or concentrate on blocking out the pain, which only made it worse. Don't give up? Why not, if there wasn't anything to do now but wait to meet Shinigami?  
  
He hissed through his teeth as a new wave of agony washed over him, sending stars flashing before his eyes. The sensation was so intense his eyes began to water, but he blinked furiously, his resolve returning. What was he thinking? He was no quitter! This morbidity might be okay for the likes of broody perfect soldiers, but he was Duo Maxwell for Shinigami's sake, the braided menace! Quatre would be mortified to find that he was the last pilot capable of pleasant emotions rather than dark and dreary introspection.  
  
Well - - - maybe that was a little harsh, Wufei had been really good company when he visited, leaving justice and honour outside in favour of a light-hearted banter and a droll wit Duo hadn't thought him capable of. Still, far be it for him to let first impressions cloud his judgement, Duo was sure that he came across as less than the thoughtful, caring person he himself was, on initial inspection. Trowa had accompanied them a few times as well, though Duo knew he had been inundated with missions recently and so appreciated it all the more. The European pilot's presence was comforting, though he was his usual secluded self, his slight smile showed he cared. But the absence of Heero, blatantly avoided in conversation; it hurt Duo almost as much as his injuries. His last visit had been over a week ago, and even then he had been more sullen and unresponsive than usual. His retreat after a short ten, near silent, minutes, without so much as a "see you soon" or a glance backward had tied a cold knot in Duo's stomach which had yet to fully untangle.  
  
Feeling himself slipping back towards darkness, he chided himself briskly and eased himself over onto his side so he could see the clock. Two thirty, half an hour until they'd be around. He mused bitterly that "they" would be Quatre and Wufei. But that wasn't very grateful, they didn't have to come, and neither could help it that they weren't a certain Japanese pilot. And he did enjoy their company, it kept him from going crazy or from driving the nurses up the wall as he had when they'd first admitted him. Not that he really had the energy any more. It was a curious sensation, to feel the life draining out of you. It had become worse after the last operation, he could tell that the doctors were loosing hope as they had explain carefully that the procedure "didn't go as well as was hoped". Since then there had been almost no feedback from the regular check ups he was put through by the rounds nurses, only a general non-committal reassurance, it was getting irritating. Duo hated not being aware of the situation, it put him on edge at the best of times, and you didn't get very far in war by letting your enemies surprise you. He would rather have facts; even bad news would be better than this infuriating cluelessness. True, the possibility of coming face to face with Shinigami was not a fun a prospect as dealing out his wrath, but at least he would know. So there was nothing he could do for now except wait. He tried to lie still, fiddling with the end of his braid, watching the hands of the clock tick slowly round to two thirty-five.  
  
  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
  
  
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Next: Heero has to make up his mind, but is there more to his reticence than his devotion to the mission? 


	4. All's Confused in Love and War

Warnings: none, mostly philosophising/soul searching  
  
Notes: I'm experimenting with being obscure, I'd like to know what people think of the hints at potential relationships in this chapter, I'm not sure they're obvious, or are they too obvious, I can't tell, I need a beta reader!  
  
  
  
Shinigami: Final Countdown  
  
  
  
Part 3 - All's Confused in Love and War  
  
Chang Wufei sighed as he washed up the remains of the barely touched lunch he and Quatre had just finished. Having checked in on Heero last night to find the sullen pilot inert and curled up on his still made bed, he had hoped that sleeping on the situation would give Heero some perspective, but he had not emerged from his room this morning and calling his name through his now closed door had only brought the response that he wasn't hungry, eat without him.  
  
Shaking his head to himself, Wufei let the cooling soapy water out of the sink and watched it swirl down the drain with a frothy gurgle. He couldn't help but try to see things from Heero's point of view; he admired the Japanese pilot's skill as a soldier, and thought highly of his self-control and poise on a mission. It was hard to reach out to people without compromising that and Wufei knew from his own experience, how painful it was to believe yourself unworthy and weak. From the little he had seen of the damage to Wing taken on Heero's last raid on an Oz heavy weapons plant, Wufei knew that Heero was deeply effected by Duo's condition, even if he didn't want to show it or admit it to himself.  
  
Despite this understanding, he didn't blame Quatre for taking out his frustrations on Yuy; the way he was behaving he deserved the wake-up call. But Wufei was unsure of how far Heero could safely be pushed, the pilot was volatile at best, and they needed all four of them to keep the up war effort, despite the current, more pressing matter of Duo's failing health. Even as he considered the big picture, Wufei felt slightly guilty, but he was too much of a realist to be able to shut out the chaos around them and be so narrow as to only think of himself and his friends.  
  
In the next room Quatre paced back and forth, muttering to himself and fiddling with a pager device, as if his manipulations could somehow induce a response from the little black plastic box. Trowa had left this morning on a new assignment from Doktor S and they had been told to be prepared to act as backup should he require assistance in withdrawal. Wufei doubted that the call would come, at least not to the Arabian, the other scientists knew their pilots well enough to realise that Quatre was not currently capable of functioning at an appropriate level of combat readiness; that he, most of all of them, was distracted by Duo's condition and would unlikely be able to function at his usual capacity right now. Wufei doubted that any of them could, they had grown too close to treat each other as simply other team-members, and he was surprised to discover that he was not ashamed by this. The justice he had set out to protect when Meiran had sacrificed herself trying to protect their colony was still not a clear concept for him, he fought in the name of such a concept in the hopes of comprehending its true meaning. But he was beginning to believe that it must contain more than simply righteousness, that you could only judge how just actions were if you had people to compare them to and on whom you could measure it effects.  
  
Wufei heard a strangled huff as Quatre marched out of the living room, and passed the kitchen on his way upstairs. Wufei had rarely seen the slight Arabian so anxious, a permanent frown was drawn across his brow and every so often he would knead his temples with his fists in an effort to keep his concentration. The Chinese pilot knew that Quatre would take it upon himself to give Duo the news if Heero did not. And it didn't look likely that Wing's pilot was coming out any time soon. Wufei give a bitter smile at the ironies of the English language. It had to come down to passion didn't it? Though it might have been easier to be mere machines in the war, the fact was that the five of them were only teenage boys, subject to all the roiling emotions of any other. And yet they were expected to, what? Ignore amorous feelings and longings, set them aside until the battle was won, the war over?  
  
Wiping off the plates with a cursory sweep of the dishcloth, Wufei placed the last of the crockery in the drainer and glanced at his watch, the old fashioned analogue display reading 2 o'clock. He headed to the porch, picking his car keys off the hook above sideboard, and slipped into his shoes before opening the front door. The noise of the engine and gravel under tyres on the drive would be clearly audible from Heero's first storey room above the kitchen; hopefully even the stoic, indivertible pilot would take the hint.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Quatre realised where he was, only when he had his hand on the cool metal door handle. He paused, considering how to proceed. Granted, the more polite thing would be to knock, but he was through being polite with Yuy. Taking his master key from his pocket, he shoved it in the lock before his resolve could fail him and opened the door without giving the room's occupant a chance to react. As expected, the soldier was halfway across the floor, desk chair left revolving, heading for the entrance. Quatre stepped quickly over the threshold, closing the pine door behind him and gasped lightly, as Heero didn't cease his forward momentum, instead changing course slightly to pin the blond roughly against the pale wooden panels.  
  
"What do you want?" Heero growled, cobalt eyes sparkling with irritation. To his credit, Quatre didn't quail under the powerful gaze, but his voice wasn't quite steady when he spoke.  
  
"To know what you think you're doing," he gulped as Heero's expression became even more murderous, his fingers tightening in a painful grip on Quatre's shoulders.  
  
"I am monitoring Oz communications; there is a war on, you know," The Japanese pilot's tone was clipped and acidic, Heero must be worried if he was making sarcastic comments. But they were all worried, they still had to deal with the situation, and Quatre wasn't about to let Heero hide behind the war when he should be fighting the battle going on at the hospital for his best friend's life. If the individual people mattered so little, they may as well let the dolls run the show and be done with it. The Arabian pushed Heero away from him with some effort, fierce determination clear on his features.  
  
"Sometimes people are more important that armies," he kept his voice firm this time. "Right now Duo should be the most important thing in your life, he should be your top priority! I'm not going to tell you again Heero! The war will go on without you, hard as it is for you to believe, but Duo..I...I don't think Duo wants to..not like he is now..." Quatre couldn't continue, as a lump formed chokingly in his throat for all he wanted to. He needed to explain to Heero how important he was right now, how much Duo needed him, how much Quatre himself needed both of them. This war had already taken too much from them all; they couldn't afford to loose each other.  
  
Heero, too, found himself unable to form words. He could handle the pressure of an entire colony's fate in his hands, but the thought that Duo could depend on him to be there for him, to do..something, when he felt so lost and helpless in this whole affair, was like a hand of ice around his rapidly beating heart.  
  
"I..I don't..I know that he ...feels for me, but I don't, I don't feel like that, I.. " Heero stumbled over the words, his breathing shaky. He didn't like to talk like this, to expose his inner thoughts, himself, but the blond's gaze compelled him somehow.  
  
They stood, staring at each other, Heero taking a step back and forcing his vital signs down to regular levels. Seeing this as the sign of surrender it was, Quatre sighed and closed his eyes, a fraction of the tension in his body dispersing. Heero shook himself mentally, unable to quite loose the feeling that Quatre had been looking right into him and out of the other side. When the Arabian raised his eyes again, they were clouded with concern, and he sounded drained as he spoke.  
  
"Heero, you feel something, something so strong I can almost taste it, yes it's confused and it's overwhelming, but you have to first admit it to yourself, then maybe you can deal. You can't just hide you emotions under battles and repair work, if only because someday this war is going to be over, Heero, and you'll not have anything to bury your feelings with any more and it'll hurt so much."  
  
It was said with such resignation that Heero couldn't meet his gaze; he knew the Arab was right, but not about everything. He needed more time to work out what was going on inside him, but Duo was going to force his hand because he had to go to the hospital, because he did care deeply for his best friend and he wanted to be there for him. And because the queasy yearning he could barely contain desperately needed release, and if Duo didn't pull through then it meant more than just his death, their team would be shattered, their hope, and none of them would survive unscathed. And the deep despair beginning to pool in the deep unfocused aqua depths of Quatre's eyes was unbearable and Heero wanted nothing more then to take that hurt and destroy it so it could never return. The realisation tightened his chest, but the sound of wheels crunching the drive outside, brought him back to the moment.  
  
Quatre shook his head returning from his own thoughts as the sound alerted him too, and he pressed his lips together, his expression pleading.  
  
"Heero, come with us."  
  
The simple entreaty was unnecessary, Heero nodded slightly and followed the blond out to the waiting car.  
  
  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
  
  
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Next: So Heero's finally made the decisions, but who will tell Duo, and what will Duo's own reaction be? 


	5. Fight

Warnings: minor swearing, yaoi hints if you're in that frame of mind (i.e. mine)  
  
Notes: I know this one took awhile, sorry minna-san, but it's a little longer in compensation! *dum-de-dum* = thoughts ~~~~ = scene change  
  
  
  
Shinigami: final countdown  
  
  
  
Part 4 - Fight  
  
Wufei turned into the visitor's car park, yanking the steering wheel with more force than necessary, while mentally turning over their discussion on the drive there. Heero had broached the subject they had been avoiding, but talking about even that had been better than the heavy silence they would have endured for the trip otherwise. Quatre had done most of the actual vocalising, but they had all been thinking it. Ultimately the choice was up to Duo, but Chang could only imagine how hard it would be to support him in his decision should he choose to ..give up. As impossible as it seemed that Duo would ever refuse the chance to fight another day, the constant pain and repetitive failures of the doctors was getting to him, that much was obvious.  
  
Wufei had never spent copious amounts of time in the American's company prior to the incident, but he had the exhausting kind of personality that Wufei could only handle in small doses. The Chinese scholar preferred to spend time with a book then participate in idle conversation, and was had no delusions concerning his limited social skills, he did not indulge in small talk and became annoyed, perhaps unreasonably at times, with those who attempted to drag him into it. But Wufei had realised over the course of the weeks he had visited with Duo, that the injured pilot was not particularly one for aimless chatter either. Having given some thought to the matter, Wufei had come to the realisation that it was most likely the other pilots' own lack of response that instigated the typical ramblings. Duo was a social creature, and when housed with their various introverted personalities, Quatre being the exception, was forced to work overtime to attain responses. Duo would talk about anything, true, but when on a topic of Wufei's choosing, he had proven a commendable match in wit and vocal reasoning, someone worth verbally sparring with.  
  
But as he got to know the real Duo Maxwell, Wufei also realised just how much tension and strain each new surgery put on the American. It was horrible to watch, especially after this fourth and latest disappointment. Now each time they visited, he felt like a morbid spectator at a car crash, repulsed by the destruction and carnage, yet unable to tear his eyes away. Maxwell had visibly and emotionally faded during the last week and, though Wufei's warrior code told him that giving up was as serious a dishonour as any other, his heart wondered if it would not be the kinder thing to do.  
  
He was startled back to reality as the door opened next to him and he realised that he had been sitting, hands on the wheel, eyes closed, head bowed as the others got out. Quatre's face was a mask of pain which matched his own poorly concealed distress as the blond put a hand on his shoulder and asked,  
  
"Can you do this?" His eyes were shining but he maintained his composure, Winner constantly proved stronger and braver than his appearance suggested him capable of. But then, they were all showing that they were more than their facades, this trial was revealing that if it achieved nothing else, and if Quatre could gather himself for this ordeal then Wufei was not about to make him face it alone. He climbed stiffly out of the car, sighing as he locked the door. *Lets get this over with*.  
  
Grasping the Arab's hand in an uncustomary show of friendship that was not entirely for Quatre's benefit, he looked between them and the Japanese pilot who stood, with a blank expression, a few feet away.  
  
"Yuy..." the cobalt gaze shifted up to him from its study of the gravel underfoot, a dulled hurt clouding the despair in their depths.  
  
"Heero," Wufei amended. "Are you ready?" Deep brown bangs fell in his face as Heero looked back down, taking a trembling breath. Then he straightened, shoulders squared, sending a piercing glare straight ahead, ready for battle.  
  
"Let's go," he intoned gruffly, marching towards the automatic entrance doors with grim determination.  
  
~~~~~  
  
The thirty minutes had stretched on forever for Duo. Now sweat beaded his brow, as he twisted cautiously into a half sitting position in an effort to grab his rapidly unravelling braid, the discarded hair tie at his side, where his anxious hands had unwittingly snapped it a few minutes ago.  
  
* Great move Duo, ya know, you'd save yourself a whole world o' pain if you'd just keep still and let yourself heal! * He berated himself silently. Footsteps outside spurred him onwards, he didn't want to be caught in such a dumb position, his pride was thoroughly stomped on as it was. Unfortunately his hair was having none of it, the silky strands escaping his fingers, scattering in chestnut waves over the pillows at his back. He groaned as his strength left him and he sank regretfully back into the soft cushions behind him.  
  
The door opened and he grinned weakly to hide his inner mortification at his obvious helplessness, as Quatre, Wufei, and most importantly Heero, entered the room. Their expressions were grim, but that was normal for zeros one and five, and Quatre had been sternly mother-hen for the past few weeks. Duo decided it was up to him to put on a show, lighten the mood a little, if only to keep himself from crying in frustration and despair at the whole travesty that was his so-called life right now.  
  
"Hey guys, Heero, I knew you couldn't stay away." The Japanese pilot's heart skipped a beat as he heard the strain in Duo's voice and witnessed firsthand the drawn, white planes of his tired face. Now he could see why the others had had reservations over how to approach Duo with the news. He had assumed that Duo would say 'go for it' without hesitation, but now he wasn't so sure. Shinigami was so still, barely following Wufei with his eyes as he quickly crossed the room, muttering disapprovingly as he helped Duo into a more comfortable position, gently pulling the rest of his hair out from beneath him. The Chinese pilot began to gather the strands, but Duo turned his head to watch him dubiously.  
  
"What is it, Maxwell?" his tone was lightly irritated, but his onyx eyes were smiling. Heero was taken aback by the candidness of Wufei's face, the ease with which he interacted with the American. Chang had never seemed to like Duo before; he had barely tolerated him on previous missions. But then, they had spent a lot of time together recently, and Heero knew that Duo's more subtle, real self, who he hid from general view, was far more approachable by quiet souls than his brash façade. Duo's current condition meant that he was forced to let down his guard, show more and more of the true man behind Death's mask; perhaps that was who Wufei had taken a liking to. Heero shivered as he realised how naked and insecure Duo must be feeling at the moment, having hidden himself from the world for so long, the soldier knew how vulnerable having the covers stripped away left you. When he had been helpless at Trowa's circus those long months ago, his experience had been similar. Duo was truly possessive of his hair; this must be violating his privacy as much as Trowa had had to to keep Heero alive during those horrible months. He wondered how Duo could stand this as the injured pilot grinned lopsidedly at Wufei's demand.  
  
"No 'ffence Wu, but you pull it real tight, gave me a headache. Can't Quat do it?"  
  
Wufei rolled his eyes but made no argument as he moved aside to let Quatre perch lightly on the bedside, careful not to jolt the sick boy next to him. He reached for the nearly worn-out brush on the cabinet and carefully combed out the tangles in the gold-streaked locks. This close, the Arabian could barely stop Duo's feelings from washing over him. He grimaced against the pain but was relieved as Heero's presence seemed to have a positive effect, there were vestiges of hope seeping through more strongly than in previous days.  
  
Quatre paused in his braiding, raising his hand to touch his chest, a habit accompanying the ephemeral ache he endured there when his friends were hurting. He couldn't understand his own reaction though, Duo was in higher spirits, so why did he wish..wish what? That he could have done something to bring about this change? Was he jealous? He glanced over to Heero who had taken a seat on the uncomfortable plastic chair at the other side of the bed, and realised that he was. *Allah, get a grip! This is no time to be obsessing over your own problems, focus! *  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut in concentration and took a deep breath. Heero was actually attempting to converse with Duo; with some interjections from Wufei now and then, he was answering in sentences instead of his usual non- committal grunts, mostly so that Duo could catch his breath as his usual level of babble tired him. Quatre opened his eyes at a light touch on his forearm. Wufei observed him, head tilted slightly to the side, concerned. Suddenly self-conscious, the blond removed his hand from his chest and, giving Chang a quick smile, went back to braiding Duo's soft, slippery hair. * I wish I could do this all day, I know we can't, but I can't help but want to put this off forever* he mused, sighing slightly as he tied the end off with a new black band and refocused on the present.  
  
The room drifted into silence, Duo worn out, Wufei and Heero unable to maintain frivolous conversation when they needed to get to the point some time soon. The three pilots around the bed glanced at each other and the floor as Duo realised that the mood had darkened abruptly. He worriedly searched each of their faces in turn.  
  
"Guys?" he couldn't keep the tremble out of his whisper. "What... what is it?" He caught Wufei's attention with his anxious gaze, and the Chinese boy felt a pang of apprehension and fear as he realised that he had to answer the frightened entreaty in those suspiciously glistening, violet eyes.  
  
"Duo, I...you have a very hard choice to make," he tried to swallow but his throat had gone dry and he was grateful when Heero took over, his voice more emotional than Wufei had ever heard it.  
  
"You know that the last operation didn't work, didn't stop all the bleeding. The... the doctors say that..that..." Heero almost visibly reverted to soldier mode as he tried to get the sentence out, standing to attention, face expressionless.  
  
"You will die, if you don't have further surgery, in a matter of days. But, while they'll operate if you choose it, you have to know that...your chances are..are not good." Heero rushed to get out what he had to before his emotions overtook him. "You may not survive another operation, or it may be another failure and leave you in more pain than you are now."  
  
For all his previous beliefs, as the cold terrifying facts hit him like a ton of bricks, Duo realised that ignorance may have been as close to bliss as he deserved. He could barely take in Heero's words as the Japanese soldier continued.  
  
"Duo, I know this must be....hard to hear, to think about, but please, think carefully before.."  
  
"NO!" Duo's voice cracked as he cried out. "What is there to think about? I wanna live damn it, I..." he was forced to stop as a coughing fit shook his body and he folded over, bringing his knees up to his chest, one arm gripping his middle in agony. Heero stood quickly, moving to hold him gently, and rubbed his back as tears came to his eyes. Quatre retreated to the other side of the room, unable to handle the fear, pain and sick relief that crashed over the four of them. Wufei leant over the rail at the foot of the bed, knuckles white as his grip tightened, hating the fact that there was nothing he could do for his friend and gasping as the coughing subsided and Duo's hand came away spattered in dark blood.  
  
"I.. should I get a nurse?" he asked. Heero was about to reply in the affirmative when Duo whispered "No, no point.."  
  
He was trembling, struggling to focus through half-lidded eyes, the flecks of blood on his lips a stark contrast to his ashen face. Heero helped him to lie back against the pillows, the soldier retreating as he frowned in concern again.  
  
"Are you sure?" The American nodded weakly, gratefully accepting the water Wufei held to his lips. For a long moment the room was still, the only sound, Duo's shaky slightly gurgling breathing. His eyes closed, and the three boys were beginning to think he had fallen asleep when he spoke in a hoarse whisper.  
  
"I want.. the operation, for all it may be...flogging the dead horse," a ghost of a smile played on his white face before he sobered abruptly.  
  
"I don't.. wanna die." the last was barely audible, at his side Heero grasped Duo's limp hand and whispered back.  
  
"If that's what you want."  
  
Silence prevailed as asleep did claim Duo this time and Wufei joined Quatre, sinking to the floor as the emotional wringer that they had just been through hit home hard. They sat, unmoving for several minutes before Heero gently laid Duo's hand at his side and straightened his back, moving silently over to them. Wufei got to his feet as Heero helped Quatre up.  
  
"We're going ahead with this?" he asked in a low tone, not wanting to disturb the pale boy before him. Wufei nodded, looking at the grey tiled floor.  
  
"It's what he wants," he mumbled, shuffling over to the door. Heero followed, his thoughts and feelings churning wildly around in his head that felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. He struggled to concentrate on the present; the nurses had let them run over the normal twenty minute limit, knowing that they would need longer to explain things to Duo. But now there was no reason to hang around and take up space. They made their way to inform doctor St. Croix of the decision.  
  
  
  
  
  
To be continued.  
  
  
  
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Next: Duo has made his decision, but the others still have some issues to work through. Plus, Trowa returns ( I shouldn't neglect the poor guy like I do, I love him really!) 


	6. Aftershock

Warnings: None really, Quatre swears, but he'll get over it :)  
  
Notes: I own nothing, except my laptop, and I'll need that to write essays (and fic) when I toddle off to uni in four weeks, argh! Anyway, R&R very much appreciated, thankee :)   
  
*dum de dum* = thoughts   
  
= text message   
  
~~~~~~~= major scene change  
  
Thanks: Wow, I can't believe I got 20 reviews, you guys rock, thank you, it really means a lot! My updates may be a little further apart, but they seem to be getting longer too!   
  
  
  
~ Shinigami: Final Countdown ~  
  
  
Part 5 - Aftershock  
  
Wufei was glad he had made the trip to the estate so many times, and that the streets were fairly empty in the middle of the afternoon as he drove back on autopilot. It only registered in his numb mind that they had arrived as he was in the process of locking the car door behind him. The doctor had been reticent about their desire to operate, but had not argued. Still, there was an air of foreboding that hung over the three pilots as they had left her office, almost as if the hurdle they had just cleared had given light to an even harsher challenge they had yet to face.  
  
As they passed through the entrance hall, Wufei saw Quatre move off towards the music room. *Oh no* He really couldn't take Rachmaninov right now. He was about to say so when the Arabian's steps faltered and he fell to his knees, emptying the contents of his stomach over the patchwork rug in front of him. Heero was at his side in an instant, to Wufei's surprise; he had never seen Heero so thoughtful of others before, or so emotionally unguarded as he had been today.  
  
Beside Quatre, Heero found himself shaking nearly as much as the blond, he had reacted on instinct, but now, he was unsure of how to proceed. So he held Quatre's shoulders until his dry heaving subsided, and asked, "Are you okay?" immediately berating himself for such a dumb question, especially when the Arabian burst into tears. So Heero shut up and let him cry into his chest, absently stroking his pale gold hair until Wufei brought a glass of water and carefully removed the rug with a grimace of distaste. Quatre sniffed a thank you and moved self-consciously off Heero's lap, taking a sip of the cool liquid as he blinked after Wufei. The Chinese boy returned to the hall and crouched down in front of the blond.  
  
Even though Duo had made the decision they had been praying for, his brain, tentatively wading through the overload, realised that only now could they release the tension and agony they had been preparing for should he choose.....otherwise. And they couldn't fully let go, not even now because there was still a chance that.....Wufei schooled his expression to a neutral guise, wishing remotely that his outward appearance could accurately represent his inner self. However, he had no intention of breaking down in front of the others, he had accepted that they were competent allies and even friends, but he was not going to show them such weakness any time soon, his pride and private nature would not allow such public displays. This was so much harder than any other mission they had dealt with, and it would not get easier because of this. No, the pessimistic voice in the back of his mind told him, it would likely get a lot more painful.  
  
"Sorry, I just, I didn't....." Quatre mumbled from behind the glass.  
  
"Quatre, there is nothing to be sorry for," Wufei silenced his halting apology, reaching out with a comforting hand to grasp the blond's shoulder. Quatre sniffed again, eyes thankful that Wufei did not simply dismiss him as weak or pathetic, even though he felt both right now. But everything was so scrambled in his brain, he felt like it would fall out any second, and the tightness in his chest was conspiring with his head to leave him nauseous and confused. Heero helped him to his feet gently, with exaggerated care, but he didn't have the strength to object at such treatment, he felt overly delicate just now.  
  
He was just about to set off to the lounge to sit down until his lunch agreed a peace treaty with his stomach, when he remembered the pager he had stuffed in his pocket earlier.  
  
"Damnit!" Both Wufei and Heero raised eyebrows at the exclamation, their attention on him as he flipped the device open and nearly panicked at the message waiting sign. His whole countenance sagged in relief as he read the offending text. "Back 2am, don't worry". He stiffened again as he considered the implications behind Trowa's message.  
  
"Don't worry! What do you expected me to do?" he ranted at the little black plastic box. "You don't break communications silence to tell me not to worry, even if I was! Don't think I'm staying up for you, I'm not, I don't need to cos I don't need to worry! Smug know-it-all, nice to know you think so highly of me! Just you wait....." Quatre's voice faded out as he marched off along the corridor beside the main entrance hall, feeling better to have something to occupy him other than thoughts of Duo. The Asians left standing in the hall wore twin expressions of bemusement until Wufei turned an appraising eye on Heero.   
  
"We could only comment if we'd never talked to inanimate objects ourselves." Heero winced at this admission.  
  
"Hn."   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
Quatre lay bonelessly on his side wishing he were numb; anything other than the maelstrom of emotions battering his defences currently. He'd taken solace and sanctuary in his bedroom, in the vain hope that he could shut people out for a while, the respite from his rant at Trowa had not been able to prevent his thoughts from returning to serious matters. Heero was too close for comfort, he could feel raw emotions, uncontrolled and intense, churning as Heero was unable to deal with them all, was not used to such confusion. He wanted to go to him, it was his fault the normally emotionally reigned pilot was in such turmoil, but he knew he would be useless right now, Heero would not burden another with such things, he would rather work things out alone.   
  
Rolling onto his back to stare blankly at the ceiling, he wished for the millionth time that Trowa were back here right now; just the presence of the quiet, controlled European could reassure and calm him. "Don't worry" pah! He had sent the message because he'd known he would, along with everything else, worry about him. He needed Trowa, when he was here, Quatre could flirt and drape himself in his arms and not think of his conflicting yearnings and desires.  
  
His thoughts drifted in that direction and he was startled when there was a sharp knock on his door.  
  
"Uh, come in," he called, sitting up on his bed and shaking his head to clear it. The door swung open and Heero entered, unconsciously noiseless, and sat down on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Daijoubu desu ka?" he repeated his earlier query, more assured to use his native language. That said, he looked as if he had given up his masks for now, drawn and haunted in expression, but together and collected for the moment. Content to wait for an answer. Quatre felt a pang of guilt for his own part in having broken that mask, but now was not the time to hide, they all had to be open and confront this, not matter how unwilling or unused to dealing with their emotions. Or, as a group of soldiers and of friends, they would cease to function. Finally raising his eyes from beneath his white blond bangs, he responded.  
  
"Hai, daijoubu. Thanks Heero, for being there. I'm not sure Wufei and I could have done it alone." Heero's mouth tugged into a wry smile as he studied the tiny porcelain statue, sitting waiting to service as a paperweight, on Quatre's mahogany desk.  
  
"I may seem.....distant, removed most of the time, but that doesn't mean I'm blind or ignorant to the rest of you," he chastised gently. "But I do need a kick start occasionally," he admitted, the half smile still there. Quatre found himself smiling back.  
  
"I'm sure you'd have gotten there eventually," he conceded, looking deep into Heero's eyes for a moment. His heart sank as he confirmed his worst suspicions. "But you can't give him what he wants, can you? I know it's nothing you can help, but you don't love him, do you?"   
  
Heero shook his head sadly, without any hesitation Quatre could have interpreted as doubt.   
  
"Lie," he admitted softly. "He's my best friend, my first real friend, and I'll always owe him for that. I do care for him. But I don't love him. I can't give him that and I won't lie to him about it." The words were matter of fact, pure Heero, but with a trace of regret, enough to convince the Arabian of his sincerity.   
  
Heero looked like he would say more, but no sound came from his slightly parted lips. Quatre didn't look to him now, getting to his feet and moving to lean on the cluttered desk facing the bed, wondering if he should leave it at that. He decided to ask anyway.  
  
"I understand. It must be hard, well, unnerving maybe. I know you aren't that comfortable socially.....intimately," he checked to make sure Heero was not taking this as an insult, but the Japanese boy nodded in acceptance; it was a fact, there was little sense in denying it. "But you don't.....you don't dislike him, or ....., I guess I want to say, you're not nervous, or embarrassed that he has a crush on you are you? Because it's no different than if a girl did, like Miss Relena I guess, don't.....please don't keep away because of that, he'd never do anything, force anything, even though he flirts."   
  
Quatre wrung his hands, touching the string calluses his violin made on his left fingertips, waiting for Heero's reply. It was surprisingly not long in coming; the Japanese pilot had obviously thought this particular issue over a lot, and Quatre felt a little twinge of guilt for his accusations of Heero's lack of feelings the previous day. Had it only been one day? Still, at least Heero had been spurred into thinking through things, he hadn't been too harsh.  
  
"I am not uncomfortable with Duo because he is gay. I admit, I was uneasy, and still am to an extent. I won't lie about that either. But, as you say, it is similar to Relena, and I feel the same discomfort when she brings up such things. That's not why I was reluctant to see Duo. I know that you place people above the mission, and I do not begrudge you that opinion. I agree that no innocent should be forced to suffer because of war. But that is not always practical. Duo.....I find it hard to reconcile Duo with an innocent, but the main reason I.....I dared not visit is that each time I did, it was harder to stop thinking about him. I nearly jeopardised the last base raid because I couldn't separate myself from this situation, couldn't just be the soldier. That is how I fight, Quatre. Do you understand?"  
  
Heero looked satisfied that he had explained himself and Quatre nodded in agreement, appreciating his candour. But he had to try, just once more, if there was any chance that Heero might consider giving Duo a hope for the future.   
  
"Are you sure things won't be different later, that you might not change how you feel. Love won't necessarily sweep you off your feet, it may grow, over time. If there's any chance that you could see how you feel later.....?"  
  
Heero gave a humourless bark of laughter. "I'm not gay, Quatre, that much I can be sure of. Besides....." he words faded to a low mumble as he turned his head to the window. The Arabian's eyes widened in alertness.  
  
"What was that?" he asked sharply, afraid he had heard as he thought.  
  
"There may not even be a later," Heero grunted out. Quatre's denial caught in his throat. There was no use refusing to entertain the potential truth. The thought was almost enough to make him want to throw up again, but he controlled himself and sank weakly back onto his bed. The Japanese pilot shifted slightly beside him, indecision flitting across his features.   
  
Continuing with his uncharacteristic openness, he confessed "There's nothing I want more right now than for Duo to be alright. But what I want can't change anything."  
  
Heero wished that he could express to Quatre what he felt, but he still was not prepared to expose himself to the sort of vulnerability that such a baring of his soul brought with it. So he remained straight backed and stern as he sat next to the blond, hoping that his presence would help the boy who was important to him as a colleague and maybe as a companion; who was hunched over, eyes tightly closed, arms wrapped around his waist. Waiting. Because all they could do was wait.  
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
Trowa entered the safe-house via the garage entrance, having parked Heavyarms' transport truck for the night. He checked his watch, nearly two thirty; he'd taken longer than expected to reach the station where he'd left the transport. He winced as he realised his lateness, but as no one approached to reproach him, he decided that Quatre had probably gone to bed to "not worry". He rolled his eyes, he really shouldn't let his teasing side write messages like that, he was going to get grilled in the morning.   
  
A light smile playing on his lips, Trowa headed for the stairs when he noticed light spilling under the door of the main study. He opened the door, allowing a slight creak of hinges to alert the room's occupant to his presence. Surprised trigger-happy soldiers were not on his wanted list after 30 sleep deprived hours forced by the need to dodge back here undetected by the random search patterns currently run through Western Europe by Alliance and Oz patrols.   
  
Wufei sat up straight at the squeak of the door, turning in the armchair he had curled up in to peer over the padded back.  
  
"Mission successful I presume?" he asked, laying his book down on the plush green arm and folding his reading glasses on top of them. Trowa nodded wearily and collapsed onto the dark leather couch with an audible thud, grace was really not worth the effort right now.  
  
"Duo?" he was almost afraid to ask, but knew he would get little sleep until he knew. It was strange for Trowa, the camaraderie he felt with the other pilots was nothing like his purely professional relationships with the mercenaries of his youth, despite heaving know the others for a relatively short time. For some reason he knew that Duo, that each of them, was important to the group; unlike Heero he had never been conditioned to rebuff or ignore such things. It was pleasant, the feeling of importance in someone else's life.  
  
"He'll have the surgery tomorrow."  
  
Trowa closed tired eyes, the smile returning. "Good. We'll go before hand?"  
  
Wufei nodded. "We'll be there for seven." Trowa glanced back at his watch face. The luminous green LED displayed 2:50. He stretched his long legs and toed off his shoes, getting to his feet.  
  
"I'm going to bed then,"  
  
Wufei nodded, reaching for his spectacles "I'll read a little longer," he sighed, knowing he'd get no sleep if he simply lay in bed and tried to switch off. Pushing the glasses up to the bridge of his nose, he flipped back to his page and curled up in the chair again, hoping to loose himself from reality, from alertness and from worry.  
  
  
To be continued...  
  
  
  
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Next: It's D-day at the hospital, but will things go smoothly? Well, that depends, I haven't actually finished it at the time of posting, objections to certain outcomes have been noted, but then, things don't always go the way you want, or plan them. Hn, I think Roguey, my evil angst muse, is trying to run the show here, oh dear. 


	7. Countdown Commences

Warnings: minor swearing, OC, some French, but none that's not obvious I think.   
  
Notes: R&R very much appreciated, thankee :)   
  
*dum de dm* = thoughts   
  
~~~~~~~= scene change  
  
Thanks: To everyone who's still reading this even though this chapter took so long, and especially to diane who's reviewed every chapter so far and made me feel very special :)  
  
  
  
~Shinigami: Final Countdown~  
  
  
  
Part Six - Countdown commences  
  
  
Winner Estate  
  
Heero woke at precisely 5:30 am, his internal alarm forcing his eyes open despite the pitiful three hours uninterrupted sleep he had managed to get after tossing and turning into the early hours. He thought he'd heard Trowa enter quietly downstairs, just as he was drifting off finally; well if he got up he'd find out. Still, there was no unwritten law stating that great soldiers had to be great morning people. Heero knew the reason for his reluctance today though. And that was exactly why he had to get up and not give himself time to think about it.   
  
With a grunt he forced himself out of bed and, grabbing the clothes he had set out on his desk chair the night before, padded out along the corridor to the bathroom.  
  
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Quatre woke with a start when his radio's alarm clock went off. He struggled out from the tangle of sheets that testified to his fitful dreams last night, and gathered his pillows from where they had fallen to the floor. Shaking his head to clear the muzziness he felt, he tried to recall those dreams, but they were blurred, even in his recently awoken state. He'd been running away from someone, a cloaked figure, the clichéd murderer, but every time he seemed to be gaining some ground, a dream-time character had appeared to slow him down again, send him back toward the danger. As if he was being directed, in a movie, to play the helpless horror victim.   
  
He rubbed his eyes as the last after-effects of sleep cleared, smiling slightly as he heard Trowa stir in the next room. He knew that he'd make it through today, without a repeat of yesterday's embarrassing episode in the hall, with Trowa there to occupy his thoughts. Quatre knew that he would never seriously 'go out with' the quiet, reserved European, to entertain such thoughts would just put him in the same position as Duo was in with Heero. He had seen enough sisters hold out for guys who were completely uninterested to avoid such a road himself. But Trowa put up with his fussing and flirting good-naturedly, and it gave them both a degree of escape in times of worry and waiting. And in war, even without Duo's condition exasperating the situation, those times were all too often.  
  
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Trowa cracked open half an eye, quickly closing it again, allowing his hand to fall limply over his grimacing face when he read the time on his wristwatch. 5:41, it taunted, with neon glee. Trowa stifled a moan and rolled over, leaving the covers on the other side of the bed, hoping the cold would motivate his reluctant body to wake up. The slight breeze through the small, half-open window did the trick, and he shivered, the jolt kicking reluctant muscles into life.   
  
Hot chocolate, he wanted hot chocolate, not the God-awful instant coffee from his ration pack that he'd been drinking for the last 24 hours to stay awake. Bizarrely it was always the shorter missions that tired him out the most. Catching only a few hours sleep a night for weeks on end was better than going over forty hours without it. Groaning quietly to himself, Trowa forced his flagging limbs out of bed, promising them more sleep after they got back from the hospital.  
  
Dragging on a pair of jeans and a navy button-down shirt, he grabbed a comb and toothbrush and shuffled downstairs on auto-pilot, heading for the ground floor washroom, knowing that Heero would already be using the bathroom off the landing. Splashing his face with the freezing water served to put his dulled senses on better alert, and he dragged the comb through his disapproving hair so that he could at least see out of one eye. Brushing his teeth got rid of the mealy sleep taste in his mouth and he felt more like himself finally. His brain was still in slow mode though. What now?   
  
He paused in the washroom entrance waiting for an idea to present itself. Hot chocolate. Good, he liked that plan. Trowa made his more or less awake way to the kitchen.  
  
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Heero turned from the fridge as he heard someone approach him, and saw Trowa, who nodded a greeting, then, frowned and opened one of the cupboards over the opposite counter. The Heavyarms pilot's movements were stilted and his face pale, dark smudges under his eyes showing he'd not slept well since he left. Heero could sympathise, he'd not been sleeping properly for days, his insomnia increasing as Duo's condition had worsened and he had become more and more worried. It wasn't even this bad when one of them were captured and held prisoner, then at least he could tell himself there was nothing he could do, that they would either escape or be dead already. This time he was required to be there and help, be supportive and he really didn't have the first idea how.  
  
Time was trickling by on a day-to-day, hour-to-hour basis and he was more stuck in his head than he had been for a long time. Why was it so much easier to just do, than to have to think about what to do first? It wasn't even a mission he could plan for, it was a friend, another unpredictable person, an almost entirely unknown quantity, and everything he learned, everything he did know, just made the situation that much more complicated.   
  
On the other side of the kitchen, the microwave beeped and Trowa thumbed it open to withdraw a steaming mug, which he cradled and blew on as he leaned against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle in his habitual pose. Looking up at Heero from under his bangs, he spoke.  
  
"You need some bread," he nodded at the margarine in Heero's hand and the Japanese boy glared at the object he didn't even remember picking up. *Damnit, Yuy, get a grip, you can't just keep drifting off like that! What if it were to happen in a mission?* he reprimanded himself mentally, and turned to open the bread bin on his right, kicking the fridge door shut behind him.  
  
*Who gives a crap, missions can wait,* the sadistic part of his mind, who was grateful to Quatre for tackling him in the hanger, insisted.  
  
Trowa gave a slight smile as irritation flashed across Heero's face and he spun quickly to retrieve a loaf. Wing's pilot was not known for his daydreaming, or for getting lost in thought, but one of the two had just happened and Trowa didn't think that was a bad thing. *He's allowing himself more leeway by the day,* he though, satisfied. *And now I better go wake Wufei before Quatre finds him and gushes over how cute he looks.*   
  
He knew that Wufei would have fallen asleep where he was, reading, having found the Chinese boy in such a compromising position before, and his smile widened slightly as he grabbed his cooling mug and headed for the study.  
  
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Quatre was making his hastily dressed way downstairs, when a little noise in the study caught his attention. Frowning lightly, he went to investigate, easing open the well-oiled door without a sound and peering in. The armchair facing away from the door was occupied, to his surprise. On the arm he could see, there rested a fall of raven black hair that could only belong to Wufei. A delighted smile sprang, unbidden, to his lips and Quatre edged carefully into the room to get a better view of the sleeping boy. He let out a silence sigh, as the rest of Wufei was revealed.   
  
The book he had been reading was half open on his lap, his feet curled up under him to one side. One hand still held the page, the other dangled off the padded arm of the chair. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose and his hair hung loose, framing his face, serene and untroubled in sleep. It seemed wrong to wake him now, and Quatre allowed himself a moment longer to look.  
  
He was dragging his attention away as Trowa entered the room, and Quatre jumped, looking briefly away to hide his embarrassment. He couldn't help but feel like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his heart giving a squeeze, a lump coming to his throat.  
  
He turned back to Trowa, who blinked eloquently at him and he blushed.  
  
"Doesn't he just look adorable!" Quatre whispered quickly, letting a silly smile grace his features. "I don't wanna wake him up."  
  
Trowa's answer was intercepted by a disgruntled noise from the armchair, where Wufei was stretching out his legs.  
  
"Well, you succeeded, thank you, Winner," he sounded decidedly grouchy, and grimaced as he rotated his stiff neck, pulling his glasses the rest of the way off.  
  
"You have to stop falling asleep reading, Wufei. For various reasons," Trowa commented, holding out a hand as the Chinese boy got up.  
  
"Agreed," Wufei replied, plucking the band off the seat of the chair where it had fallen, and roughly re-tying his hair. Quatre felt oddly disappointed as he stalked out of the room to Trowa's reminder that they were to leave in ten minutes.   
  
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L'hopital St. Genevieve  
  
Nurse Amelie Dupont smiled, relieved, as she read over the day's duty list and noticed her half past seven prep for surgery in room 12. She had taken a liking to the poor boy who had been with them on the ward for over a month now, and she had been worried when his condition only seemed to deteriorate with each further procedure. She had seen his devoted friends, visiting him without fail, leaving more and more drained, the little blond frequently looked ready to cry after their time was over and recently, even the surly Asian boy had been anxious as they left. None of them looked old enough to be dealing with such terrible choices alone, but never had she seen an accompanying adult, or even heard one speak of one, except for the occasional doctor who they seemed to know apart from the regular hospital staff.  
  
All four, like Duo himself, had an air about them which made them older though, more experienced at life, perhaps than she would have expected in boys their apparent age. Amelie frowned as she began her rounds; there was obviously something they were hiding. After all, five boys their age; home-schooled, as their excuse for being able to visit every afternoon went, with no adult presence assisting the situation, was not normal, even in these war-torn times.  
  
But also in these times, money, usually from a military source, talked, and silenced questions which would have otherwise been asked. It was a sad fact, but one that helped pay her bills, and in the end, who could say that the extra money wouldn't help save lives, rather than cost them. It was all up to the bigwigs and politicians, there was relatively little she or an individual could do. But that didn't stop Amelie from wishing it was otherwise. Or from believing that each individual could, in the end make a difference, even if it were so small as to not appear in public knowledge or history books.  
  
She made her rounds quickly and quietly, checking the monitors and vitals of the patients, all still asleep at this early hour of six thirty. Her thoughts turned to the current political situation, you couldn't escape it on the television, in newspapers, even in it didn't affect you directly, the threat still hung over the earth, and colonies too she imagined, like an oppressive dark cloud. She had as little to do with the war as possible, utterly unconvinced of the idea that violence could cause anything but pain and suffering.   
  
She had transferred out of her previous care center when it had been converted for use in the war effort. But not before she had seen the kinds of horrific injury that mobile suit battles could cause. Injuries not unlike Duo Maxwell's. His charts listed a vehicular accident as the cause of his wounds, but Amelie was in little doubt, it explained the lack of questions, neither side needed the bad publicity right now.   
  
She sighed at the thought of one with such a potentially long life ahead of them throwing it all away, for what? Duo obviously had the charisma, quick intelligence and bravado to go as far as he wanted, so what was his reason for, illegally if the age on his charts was correct, joining the military? She didn't mind what side he was on, in her opinion neither was right, the whole war was one big mistake after another, but why? That was what really intrigued and worried her.  
  
And now the nurse smoothed the frown off her round face as she approached the last door on the corridor, room 12. If any patient were awake at this hour it would be Duo. It was awful to see him fade, see him gradually fail in his gallant efforts to hide the pain, as he had at the beginning, but Amelie sternly refused to think of this as the end. He was a strong spirit, anyone who met him could attest to that, and she truly hoped he would recover following this. She was annoyed at the negative attitude the ward doctor had of the situation, St. Croix had been virtually willing to give up if Duo had agreed, but to leave that kind of decision to a patient under such obvious strain was wrong in Amelie's opinion. But she would do whatever she could to make him feel better, no matter what the final outcome.   
  
With a slight smile, she opened the door, clipboard under one arm, not surprised when the form in the bed shifted slightly at her entrance. Even with his injuries and medications, Duo didn't sleep soundly, or for long periods. She had given up trying not to wake him after the first week, and she was glad he still woke to interruptions from outside, it proved that he was not yet giving in physically. That didn't stop her worrying about his mental state though, even now.   
  
An internal room, the only light available was artificial, and Amelie turned up the dimmer switch slightly, to make herself visible. Duo squinted as his bruise-darkened eyes adjusted to the comparative brightness and he quirked his pale lips into the semblance of a smile. He liked this nurse, while the others seemed to be content to just do their job; she would actually take an interest in him. More than once she had given him a bit of company when the others had gone for the day and he was left to simply lie there and talk to himself until his voice gave out.  
  
"Alors, monsieur Deux, how are you today?" She kept her tone neutral, there was no disguising the seriousness of the nearing operation, but then she didn't need to be morbid about it either. There was too little hope left in Duo's tired face as it was.   
  
"As well as I was yesterday, I guess," there was a 'but' at the end of that sentence but he paused, lips slightly parted as if he was debating whether to continue. Amelie provided him with the opportunity, hoping to draw some further insight into his circumstances from him, she was admittedly curious.  
  
"Well, I've finished my rounds if you'd like me to stay for a while until your friends get here. I know you must be lonely in here all day, with only le nounours here for company." She crossed the room to where the bear sat on the bedside table, patting its baseball-capped head and Duo smiled, relief tingeing his dulled violet eyes.  
  
"Thanks, Miss Amelie," he said, more strongly now that he had an outlet for whatever he needed to get off his chest. Well, she was more than able to listen if it would make him feel better. She wasn't disappointed.  
  
"Can...can I ask you a question? I guess it's a little personal, but I, I'm trying to sort out a bunch of stuff in my head and I don't think that my friends will...appreciate my point of view. I want an unbiased opinion really." He was visibly tired by the short speech, but he clearly wanted to get this out so Amelie nodded for him to continue.  
  
"What do you think about the war. I mean, do you think it does any good? Is there a point to the fighting, to suffering. If it brings peace eventually, once and for all, is it worth it?" The round-faced nurse took the seat next to the bed, considering how to answer. She didn't really want to tell him exactly what she thought, not if he had been so injured fighting for something he believed. Still if he wanted her opinion, if he was having doubts about whether to continue, she didn't want him to feel forced to go back out there after he recovered. Not if he didn't want to, if he would go just because someone told him it would be worthwhile.  
  
"Well, I can tell you what I think, but you know, mine isn't the only way to look at things," she edged into the subject. He nodded carefully.  
  
"I know, I just want to hear a different opinion on the subject, please?"  
  
"Personnellement, I don't agree with the war. I know the reasons the military give the media for why their side is in the right, and all of that rubbish, but when you think about it, it's only one big misunderstanding after another. One man from Earth assassinated Mr Yuy, so the colonists misinterpret that as a threat from all of Earth and begin to move further away from Earth, meaning the Earth Alliance becomes worried that the Colonies are planning some sort of coup, which sets them towards, increasing control, which is taken for oppression.... It all just gets out of hand and everyone forgets that one individual was the catalyst." She paused to check that Duo was merely taking in her words rather than reacting badly to them. His face was solemn, but not morose as yet. He gestured, with his hand that was not attached to the bedside IV, for her to continue.   
  
"As for the good it may do, I suppose it may bring better relations, peace, for a while, but no war has brought final peace before. I know this sounds a little pessimistic, but it's not in all of human nature to get along, to work together. We'll always have different views; different religions and ways of doing things have existed for as long as we've been on this planet, and just because we've managed to colonise space, doesn't make the human race less fallible, tu sais?"  
  
Duo gave a grimace of a smile. "I know, alright. People are stupid, well, groups of people are."  
  
"That's my point." Amelie agreed. "Alors, I don't think that war is worth it. But that's for everyone to decide on their own. It's your choice whether you fight or not." Duo's eyes widened as his bruising would allow, and he swallowed, the heart monitor he was hooked up to showing his discomfort as the spikes on the silent screen quickly rose in frequency.   
  
"I...fight?" He seemed to deflate then, knowing that there was little he could do to refute it if she accused him of having been involved. One more mouth for them to pay off, it didn't feel good, even if they did use siphoned enemy funds to do so.  
  
"Don't worry," she reassured him, "I used to work in a military controlled care center. Suit battles leave typical patterns of injury, due to the harnesses and stresses on various areas. It's none of my business why you fight, or fought, but ...are you having doubts over your decisions?" She answered honestly to keep him at his ease; he was weak enough as it was without adding emotion stress to his load.  
  
Realising that she was not going to start probing too deeply, Duo relaxed as much as he was able.   
  
"I really don't know, don't know why I did this in the first place, definitely what I'm still doing, not achieving anything concrete. Just because I believe in Shinigami, le Dieu de mort, doesn't mean I wanna be him, not really, G's idea just seemed at better one than my, lets blown everyone up plan. Innocents that I set out to defend are still gettin' hurt, people who I wanted to persuade diff'rently refuse to be swayed," His voice was getting progressively more hoarse and he paused to cough, the nurse holding him a glass of water to drink. He sipped it gratefully and continued.  
  
"Thing is, what difference is one little guy stopping gonna have? And what about others who depend on him? On the one hand, I can't leave 'em in the lurch, but on the other, won't saving the lives that would otherwise be taken be worth it?"  
  
"Oh enfant, I wish I had your answers." Amelie took his free hand and squeezed it gently, eyes bright as she empathised with his horrible situation. "I would have everyone stop fighting if I could, but that isn't going to happen. I don't think you should have to fight, if you don't want to. But only you can make that choice. If you save just one life by stopping; surely that would be worth it? Each individual is important, even if it doesn't always seem so in the grand scheme of things." Duo sighed and pulled his hand from hers.  
  
"My friends will be here soon, but...thanks, for listening." He gave a crooked grin. "Who knows, maybe I won't even have to make that decision anyway." He looked down apologetically as her face turned ashen and she opened her mouth to protest.  
  
"Sorry," he cut in before she could say anything. "I, things are just so... unstable right now. I can't seem to avoid thinking that stuff, y'know."  
  
"Positive thinking can do wonders for healing, Duo, s'il te plait, you must try," Amelie pleaded as she stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. Duo gave her a slight shrug.   
  
"I know, I swear, I'm trying, it may just take a little time I guess, I have a lot to get straight in my head, but I'll get there, promise," he gave her one of his most winning smiles. It must have worked, because she recovered her expression as well, and squeezed his shoulder lightly before departing to report to the main desk.  
  
  
  
To be continued...   
  
  
  
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Next: Will Duo reveal his thoughts to the others before the operation? Can he really take such a drastic step as to give up the fight? 


End file.
